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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749682">You've Got to Face It, Sunshine!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites'>magicites</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>way the world goes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Another love letter to LA baybee!, Engagement, Ennui with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Friendship, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Los Angeles, Multi, Nightmares, Trauma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 03:42:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,414</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25749682</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicites/pseuds/magicites</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything moves in circles. You think you’re over something until it rears its ugly head up once more, creeping tendrils through your dreams. You think you’re okay with loss until you realize that the ground was stolen from beneath your very feet. </p><p>Change is good. Change is also so hard it’s damn near impossible.</p><p>Vanitas: his dreams, his shifting definition of home, and the liminal spaces of the places in-between a past that haunts him and a future he isn’t ready to face. </p><p>(A coda to You’re Not the Boy You Used to Be.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elrena/Strelitzia (Kingdom Hearts), Naminé/Xion (Kingdom Hearts), Vanitas/Ventus (Kingdom Hearts)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>way the world goes [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You've Got to Face It, Sunshine!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>GUESS WHO'S BACK (BACK AGAIN) BRI IS BACK.... BACK AT IT AGAIN. i've wanted to write a coda fic to Boy for Literal Months, but i was never able to tap into a good emotional heart for it. the first concept i had i could never get to work, but then this concept came around and suckerpunched me. i missed writing in this au? it felt like coming home, haha. </p><p>i think this works as a standalone fic? you might not have the full context for character motivations but it's fine. if you haven't read boy, know that this fic takes place in a modern au where vanitas and ventus are childhood rivals to friends to lovers. vanitas was raised by xehanort, who died while vanitas was in college and left him with a TON of trauma to work through. he starts to work through it!</p><p>title taken from <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csYznLAYLZo&amp;list=OLAK5uy_n6G-kS1kdPGeWYtAfkHveejLWnqtrUCd0&amp;index=8">Basil by Memphis,</a> just like the first fic :) this is actually the first part of the phrase! poetic justice. </p><p>atla and nis thank u for betaing once more!!! i owe you both my life</p><p>this takes place about two years after the end of Boy! enjoy!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>In the end—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, Vanitas learns that there is no end. He knew that, he’s been told that by Xion, and then by Minnie, both of whom are far smarter than him, and even by that stupid self-help book Aqua got him last year after she pried long enough for him to mention that maybe winters are hard for him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days, it doesn’t hurt at all. Vanitas doesn’t spare a single thought to the first eighteen years of his life, or the years afterwards where he tried to destroy everything he loved. He doesn’t think about his bitterness or the gaping void in the center of his mind or any of that macabre shit. Most days, he only dwells on the sunlight creeping through his bedroom window, the arm wrapped around his waist in the early hours of the morning, or the wind in his hair as he takes an evening jog under the fiery tones the sunset casts his new neighborhood in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then there are the dreams. Nightmares. Whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in one now, he can tell. It’s not like the knowledge that he’s asleep makes getting through it any easier. He knows he’s dreaming because he can hear the old man’s voice calling his name, and that bastard’s been dead for years. He’s back in the house he grew up in, but as he exits the kitchen with a mug of tea (amazing how the smell of the blend can make him nauseous even in a dream), his footsteps fall upon the blue judo mat that used to take up Eraqus’s living room. Their cat — the one the old man got after he kicked Vanitas to the fucking curb, the same cat that now lays claim to Eraqus’s whole house  — sits on top of the fireplace and watches him with cold eyes, fluffy tail hanging down from the mantle like a Christmas stocking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas flips the cat off, knowing it isn’t real either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xehanort looks exactly how Vanitas remembers him: bald head, cold eyes, trembling hands. Vanitas sets the tea down on the table next to his bed. “That boy didn’t ask for my blessing,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas rolls his eyes. “What am I, your property?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am your </span>
  <em>
    <span>father.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and you did a shit job of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s how Vanitas can also tell this is a dream. He can talk back. There’s still a chance he’ll get tea dumped over his head for mouthing off, but it never hurts in dreams. What does hurt is his anger, pulsing in his chest and making his fingers twitch. They’re shared four sentences and he already wants to scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ungrateful whelp,” the old man hisses. “I gave you a roof over your head and food in your stomach, and this is the thanks I receive? You going off to elope in the middle of the night?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You disowned me!” Vanitas shouts. “You have </span>
  <em>
    <span>no right</span>
  </em>
  <span> to tell me off, you old bastard.” His hands itch with the need to break something. He has half a mind to grab the tea and chuck it at the wall in hopes that the mug will shatter. Maybe he’ll just dump it over the old man’s head and see how he likes the taste of irony and sencha.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his hands in tightly-curled fists at his sides. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wakes up with rage coiled tight in his chest. He can barely breathe around it, but he forces in a shuddering inhale. He loosens his fists slowly, wincing at the marks his nails leave on the tender skin of his palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He opens his eyes, trying to get adjusted to the dim lighting of his bedroom. Their bedroom, really. Ventus is fast asleep behind him, making some cute little snuffling noises in his sleep. His arm clings to Vanitas’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fumbles for his phone to check the time, wincing at the harsh light coming from the screen. Two in the morning. Fucking wonderful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a quiet sigh, he moves Ventus’s arm and slips out of bed. Two heads lift up to look at him as he gets to his feet. “Go back to sleep,” he whispers to his two ridiculous pitbulls. They’ll follow him to the kitchen if he’s not careful, and even if he can get out of bed without waking Ventus up, there’s no way he can say the same for the dogs. They’re just too big.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few frantic gestures, but eventually both Void and Gear lower their heads and go back to sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied, Vanitas closes the bedroom door behind himself and heads to the kitchen. He gets a glass of water from the filtered pitcher they keep in the fridge (LA tap is safe to drink, and also safe to say that it tastes like shit) and downs half the thing in one go. He moves to the window and pushes open their ratty little curtain to take in the street below. The streetlights are spaced far apart in this neighborhood, but there’s still enough light for him to take in the vague shape of the tall trees that line the opposite sidewalk. They’ve lived here for… what, six months now? He still isn’t used to the sight below him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s nice, though. Quiet. Domestic. The neighborhood is full of families and young-ish professionals. He and Ventus are some of the youngest people around. After living in college student central for so long, being singled out for his youth is weird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drinks his water and watches the leaves sway in the late May breeze. It’s cooler on the west side, but the heat isn’t bad here. Not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the water’s all gone, he sets the glass in the sink and slips back into bed. Ventus is none the wiser.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas keeps a record of these dreams. Nothing more than a single note in his phone with a list of dates and a short description of the dream. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It sucked</span>
  </em>
  <span> is the most common refrain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It tends to happen a couple times a month. Not often or consistently enough for him to grow used to the sight of the old man. It can get erratic. Sometimes he’ll have one dream in the span of a month. Other times he’ll have three in a week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of them don’t send him pacing around their apartment. They’re just stressful, is all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows the list doesn’t make a damn lick of sense to anyone else. Ventus has seen it before after grabbing his phone like the nosy punk he is, but he also hasn’t asked about it. He probably thinks it’s a record of his most annoying training sessions or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s fine.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three years he’s been seeing his therapist, and the questions are mostly the same. Minnie asks how work is (“Fine. A little slow, I guess. Gotta poke around dog parks for more clients, maybe.”), how Ven’s grad school apps are going (“Third time’s the charm, right?”), and how his friends are (“Far.”). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure you’re feeling okay, Vanitas?” she asks in that high-pitched, kind voice of hers. She still sits in the chair that could fit three of her. Vanitas sprawls over the nearby couch. He draws nonsense patterns into the fabric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem a little lower than usual, dearie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, work’s slow. Ventus is stressed. Every week we have to endure another massive report from his mom about the shitfit his extended family threw this week. Still better than mailing out five-hundred invitations, I guess.” He frowns at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You two have waited so long already. Does it bother you to wait longer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re too poor to try anything now. We’re only going to be poorer once he gets into school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minnie looks down at the notebook in her lap with a frown. If she knows his tells, then he knows hers, and that one she only uses when she’s trying to figure out how to bring something up without him getting defensive over it. What’s there to even get defensive over?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you can text me anytime, Vanitas. We may only meet once a month now, but I’m still here to support you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t news. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope that if you need me, you’ll let me know.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Void doesn’t go very fast on her walks these days. She’s still in good health. Vanitas has made damn sure of that. She’s just getting old. It’s nice that the sidewalks are smoother here than in Westwood. The even concrete is easy for her to walk on, and though they set a slower pace than Gear would prefer, they still get their walk in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This afternoon, Vanitas has a companion. Not Ventus, who is off working as a receptionist at that vet’s office in the part of Culver City no one likes because it’s all run-down. At least it’s closer to their apartment than the nice part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever tried to walk a cat?” Skuld asks. Gear trots in front of her, eagerly smelling everything that they pass by. Skuld pays her little mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I train dogs, not cats. I thought you knew this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do! I’m just asking…” she trails off with a hum. “I wonder if Starlight would let me walk her?” That’s right. Her silver tabby, the same one that always stares at Vanitas with massive blue eyes whenever he leaves his apartment to walk the twenty steps to where his car lives on the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably not, if she isn’t used to wearing a harness.” They turn the corner onto a busier street. Cars rush by, heedless of their poor pedestrian selves. Vanitas continues to hate LA drivers, even as he accepts that he embodies all of the traits of the very worst kind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know Skuld very well, but he likes her. She’s calm and mature. She introduced herself with a small smile and an offer to help him and Ventus move in when she saw them unloading box after box on the curbside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s interesting having a friend older than him that he didn’t grow up with. Terra and Aqua don’t count. He can’t look at them without remembering their weird middle school phases. That, and they’ll always be Ventus’s friends more than they’re his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Skuld? She’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> friend. Both of theirs, equally. And there’s something kind of nice about that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He likes that she works weird hours, too. Or works from home, whatever. The point is, she lives across the street, and she’s willing to go on walks with him past the row of restaurants a block away from their places at two in the afternoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walk along a busy street, passing by colorful shop fronts. The smell of garlic and cloves wafts out from the restaurants they pass by. They’ve only tried a few places so far, but Skuld never fails to point out yet another restaurant painted in a bright color and compliment them on a dish he’s never tried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a small, hipster-adjacent coffee shop nestled between the restaurants. Vanitas passes off Void’s leash to Skuld as he goes inside. The girl behind the counter is quick to recognize him. “Hi! Iced mocha today?” she asks, already moving to pull out the ingredients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas looks at the row of teas along the back of the shop, all sequestered away in silver canisters with neat labels taped onto the front. He should take Xion and Naminé here. It seems like a good place to study. When the barista slides over his drink, he gets a matcha brownie for the hell of it. The taste reminds him of the time the three of them tried to make their own matcha brownies in Naminé’s cramped little kitchen. It didn’t taste much like matcha at the end, but sugar is sugar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, and Naminé smiled so widely when they finally got them into the oven, like an afternoon shadow finally coming into sharp relief as the sun set. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes Void’s leash back from Skuld as he comes out. “Any news from that roommate of yours?” he asks. He’s worlds better at this friendship thing than he used to be. People like to talk about themselves, and Skuld is no different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ephemer?” she asks. He side-eyes her small smile. It looks melancholy. “No. I mean, he gave me three month’s worth of rent before leaving, but I still expected a text or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He sounds like kind of a dick. I don’t know why you put up with him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you met him, you wouldn’t say that,” she argues. “It hurts, sure, but he’ll come back. He usually does.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas snorts. “Usually?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Always! Sometimes it takes a little longer than I expected, that’s all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has zero confidence in this guy. But they’re not that close, and Vanitas doesn’t see the point in starting a fight over it. He shrugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They keep walking.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s harder to get out to Malibu from his current apartment. Not impossible, but it makes reaching his old client base more difficult. He charges rich assholes an extra Rich Asshole fee, sure, but even that isn’t worth getting trapped in two hours’ worth of traffic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lives twenty minutes from his old apartment when traffic is good. Leave it to LA to make a six mile difference stretch the length of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of his clients live in Hollywood now. He finds his rickety old car chugging up the complicated network of roads criss-crossing through the Hollywood Hills more often than not for work. The Pomeranians look the same here as they do in the other part of the city, but they’re more annoying without the bliss of the sea breeze to cool him off when he has to chase the dogs around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Between his dog training and Ventus’s job, they make more than enough to cover all their necessities. Ventus’s mom is always a text away, offering to pay some of their bills the same way she did for Ventus while he was in school should they ever need it, but Vanitas always refuses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She isn’t happy about that, but whatever. She’s already doing enough for them, what with the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>mediating Ventus’s extended family’s demands on their behalf </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He does manage to get out to Santa Monica on a semi-regular basis. Helps that he can swing by and pick up one of his friends along the way. That’s why Xion sits on the beach with him now, watching the waves push and pull along the shoreline. This early in the morning, there aren’t many people out and about. The relative quiet is nice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion sips at her coffee. She’s finally awake enough to have a decent conversation. “Thank you for bringing me here, Vanitas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He waves her off. “We’ve been friends for how long, now? Stop thanking me already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She giggles. “Okay. I’ll never thank you for anything ever again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowls at her, but it only makes her laugh harder. She takes another sip of her drink and sighs wistfully. “I’ll miss this,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start missing it now. You still have a month before school’s out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She curls in on herself, folding her arms over her knees and resting her chin on top. “You’re right. It’s coming so fast... Four years felt like they flew by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad’s happy I’m moving back home. He’d never say it, but I can tell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your girlfriend?” Vanitas asks, expecting them to have barely talked about it. Xion and Naminé are both too self-sacrificial when it comes to their own feelings. They rarely fight, but when they do it’s like watching two injured cats hide away in opposite caves and die alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion sighs. “Naminé said she thinks we can make long distance work. We’ll still see each other every couple months, and if I can get an internship down here, I’ll move back. Until then…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Sonoma for you,” Vanitas finishes. “Good job, by the way. I’m glad you two are actually talking about this shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She hides her smile in her knees, but they’ve been friends long enough that he knows her tells. “Thank you, Vanitas. Really, you should be thanking Kairi. She was the one who bullied us into talking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barks out a laugh. “Why am I not surprised? Damn meddler.” Ah, but he loves her. He’d never tell her that, but he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you, Vanitas? Have you set a date yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is everyone more excited about this than me? Stop asking,” he says, but there’s no heat in his voice. He can’t stand to be mad at Xion. She’s too good for that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That isn’t an answer,” she says gently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re letting the relatives duke it out. The newest idea is two ceremonies. One here, one overseas. Get back to me in a month if that changes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to listen to them, Vanitas. It’s for you and Ven, not them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Since when have I ever listened to anyone, Xion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s going to be hard when she leaves.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Four years ago, shortly after Vanitas had transferred to his then-childhood-best-friend and now-fiance’s university, he somehow stumbled into befriending a slew of freshmen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now they’re all seniors and their undergraduate careers are over in a month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion’s heading back to Sonoma, where she’ll live at home until she snags a paid architecture internship that’ll take her to San Francisco for the next three years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kairi and her boys, Sora and Riku, one of whom Vanitas would tentatively call a friend and the other he would easily call an acquaintance, are all headed back to San Diego. Sora’s content to rest for the summer before launching into whatever ridiculous bullshit he stumbles into. Riku has some kind of commerce job down there. Kairi’s snagged a position as Events Coordinator for some soulless company she’ll transform from the inside out within two years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naminé and Roxas are both staying in LA, but they’ve agreed to get the fuck out of Westwood. Apparently Roxas’s current roommate plans to stuff his room with more PhD students once he clears out. Naminé wants to get an illustration job, and between her portfolio and her bustling Etsy store, she’ll wow any employer lucky enough to get a meeting with her. Roxas finally gave into pursuing music (it took him long enough!), and he’s gotten a few gigs arranging compositions for people. They’re looking for a place together, but they’re still not sure where.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas and Ventus have a bet going: loser has to take the winner out to whatever restaurant of their choice. Vanitas bets they’ll find some shitty loft in the arts district of Downtown; Ventus is convinced they’ll find a place in Palms. If Vanitas has sent Naminé a few listings of places to help speed the process along, well… what Ventus doesn’t know won’t kill him, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas is jolted out of his most recent binge of The Great British Bakeoff when his phone rings. Ventus’s contact photo flashes on his screen. It’s just him and the dogs at home, so he answers the call and puts it on speaker. “Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m finally on my way home. Christopher called out sick today, and there was this huge dog that Alice needed help sedating. I think it was a great dane mix? You’d know better than me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gonna have to learn dog breeds eventually, Ventus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“And until I do, you’ll help me out, won’t you?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> There’s a teasing lilt to Ventus’s voice that set his insides on fire. Vanitas grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duh. How long until you’re back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ventus laughs, the sound as gorgeous as its always been.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Depends. I’m starving. I was thinking of picking up food on the way back. Have you eaten yet?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nope. What are you thinking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That Thai place in Culver.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emerald?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas hums. It isn’t great, but Vanitas can stand being hungry for another half an hour if it means he doesn’t have to cook. “Get me a green curry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Got it. Do you want tea, too?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay. See you soon, Vanitas. Love you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love you too,” Vanitas says. He hears a satisfied little breath from the other end of the call before it ends. Strange to think that those words used to be hard to say. Saying them feels like breathing now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought Ventus might have wanted to visit his friends, but apparently not tonight. Terra and Aqua share an apartment on the Westside. Terra does some engineering thing further south while Aqua finishes up her last year of grad school. Ventus will stop by their place after work at least once a week. When he doesn’t, they make their way over here. He never stops being delighted to see them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Vanitas has Ventus. He’ll always have Ventus. That isn’t up for debate and it isn’t up for fucking question. They’ve been through too much to ever think otherwise. They haven’t yet said </span>
  <em>
    <span>till death do us part,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but they don’t need to say it in front of an audience for Vanitas to know it to be true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That comforts him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Day bleeds to night, one after the other. Light can only be understood because darkness exists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Ventus knew this he’d get upset, and it doesn’t happen often, but… sometimes — not often, only here and there when he feels like shit — Vanitas wonders— </span>
</p><p>
  <span>—Wonders whether they’ve made a bed to lie in together or dug a ditch to die in.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Vanitas is in the living room. Behind the glass door leading out to the patio is Ventus’s house, where he can see Ventus’s mother putter about in her kitchen. Some part of his mind informs him that she’s chopping up strawberries to stick in yogurt, even though he can’t see her hands or the counter in front of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re on your own now,” says the old bastard. “You have an hour to pack your things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you,” Vanitas says. He drags a duffel bag onto his childhood bed as the room melts seamlessly from one place to the next. He tugs open a drawer and pulls out clothing by the armful. “I would have left eventually. You think I wanted to stay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ungrateful!” he hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it wasn’t for Ventus, what would even happen to me?” he asks. Memories flash in his head, reminding him how the story goes. It hasn’t happened yet, but he knows that this is a dream. It happened already, behind them both now. “You’re dead, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hauls the duffel bag onto his shoulder. He ignores whatever the bastard has to say as he grabs the car keys off the counter and heads outside. The car isn’t the old man’s, but Ventus’s Prius, the thing his parents got him as a three-months-after-graduation gift. He gets into it anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wakes up when he reaches the sea, emotion itching at his skin from the inside out. He grabs his phone and jots down a note about the dream, just the date and one word: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Frustrating.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He rolls over, snuggles a little closer to the sleeping sunshine next to him, and hopes that a better sleep will take him soon.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I don’t start studying by ten, please punch me,” Ventus says the next morning as they finish up breakfast. Vanitas looks at the clock. It’s nine-thirty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to punch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then yell at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to yell at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then sit on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’ll quickly turn into another distraction and you know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus chuckles. “Okay, you got me there. Then… I don’t know, but threaten me in some way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas looks at the pile of GRE prep books on the single bookshelf they own. Ventus was so proud when they got that bookshelf. He said it made him feel like a real adult, to which Vanitas had looked him dead in the eye and reminded him that they were both twenty-five. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now it has novels, and some of Terra’s wood carvings and Aqua’s metal trinkets, and a bunch of stupid test-prep tomes haphazardly thrown at the bottom. Ventus only ever studies on the weekends since he’s usually too tired to try after work during the week. Makes trying to spend time together hard some days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still think your last score was good enough,” Vanitas says. “Your score is above average for every school you’re applying to. Why take it again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because,” Ventus begins, a sharp note of irritation in his voice, “like we’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>talked about,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vanitas, my grades are way below average. I need to have a high GRE score if I want any of these schools to accept me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But studying makes you feel like shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Getting rejected from vet school for the third year in the row would make me feel even more like shit,” Ventus counters. There’s a dark light in his eyes, one that makes the stubborn part of Vanitas want to stand up and shake him by the shoulders until he gets it. He’s taken that damn test twice this year already, and both of his scores were higher than anything he had gotten before. That, combined with the essays Aqua swore to pick over with a fine-toothed comb and his three glowing letters of rec from professors and his boss should get him in. The school in Pomona isn’t even that good of a program! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Vanitas knows better than to get into a screaming match over this. “Fine,” he says. “You’ll study for an hour, then I’m dragging you out for ice cream. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Deal.” Ventus pokes at the last bit of egg on his plate. “Thank you,” he adds quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus chuckles. “I hate it when you say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas smirks. He almost goes to say it again, but stops when he thinks of something sappier to do. He goes to the other end of the table, wraps his arms around Ventus, and plants a kiss on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, for good measure, he whispers a very important message in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finish your breakfast already, you nerd.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Parking in Westwood is fucking impossible. Vanitas knew this, and he’s fought the parking restrictions countless times since moving to LA, but it hits differently now. He’s not even that old, he’s just tired of driving up and down the endless hills, searching for a single spot to cram his car into. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t come here much anymore. The village was a graveyard long before he ever showed up, and it’ll keep being a graveyard long after the reasons he still has to visit are gone. Mostly, he stops by to pick up one of his sad, car-less undergraduate friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Good thing there’s always parking in front of Naminé’s incredibly tiny studio. And by that, he means there’s space in front of the parking garage as he waits for her to come down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally comes out, she slips into the passenger seat without a moment’s hesitation. She settles her little lavender bag over her lap and smiles at him from underneath a wide-brimmed straw hat. “Hello, Vanitas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s good to see you. It’s been a month, hasn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s been busy. The final quarter of senior year is killer for most students. Between finals, graduation, and trying to see all their friends before they leave, it’s amazing students have any time to spare. Even Naminé, who is generally allergic to social interaction, has been drowning under a sea of lunches with her classmates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They make their way through boring, if necessary, catch-up talk as he drives to the apartment Kairi shares with Sora and Riku. She’s already sitting on the railing outside of her apartment waiting for him when he pulls up. She flashes a grin at them and slips into the back. “Vanitas! Nami-noodle!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kairi, you saw me yesterday,” Naminé points out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can still miss you,” she says with a pout. “And Vani—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignores him. Of course she does. “It’s been even longer! Have I even seen you this quarter?” Without waiting for an answer (which would be no), she flings herself forward and throws her arms around his neck. The shitty hug is mercifully brief.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stop for one more passenger. Xion’s busy with her hellish studio class, but Roxas is free to waste his Friday afternoon with them. Once they have him and his skateboard in tow, Vanitas is content to let Kairi dominate the conversation however she feels as they leave Westwood’s little bubble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They head to Venice Beach. They reminisce on the way over, passing memories of their time together back and forth like kids trading baseball cards. Vanitas doesn’t know shit about baseball, but he’s pretty sure he’s seen trading cards for the players. Either way, the point remains. This is a habit they often fall into. It feels like they spend half their time together just going over the stuff they’ve already done. It’s nice, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky is a blank sheet of gray and the ocean a murky blue, but the cool breeze is refreshing and the smell of the sea will never fail to tease the tension out of Vanitas’s shoulders. He snaps a picture of the shoreline and sends it to Ventus along with a simple caption: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect beach weather, right?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts his phone away, expecting a response eventually. Ventus’s job keeps him busy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kairi and Naminé lean against the side of the car to tie their skates on. Kairi’s are a soft pink, a gentle complement to Naminé’s wispy blue. Then there’s Roxas with his skateboard. All that’s left is for Vanitas to get some kind of wheels of his own. He looks around until he finds…. Ah, there. One of the five-hundred electric scooters scattered around the beach. The girls have offered to help him pick out skates, but he’d like to not smash his face into the concrete and die, thanks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A winding path snakes its way along the beach, swooping past the iconic </span>
  <em>
    <span>V</span>
  </em>
  <span> statue that marks this part of the shoreline. Kairi snaps a photo of it as she races along. “Race you, Roxas!” she says, snaking ahead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re on!” Roxas replies, kicking off his skateboard to keep pace with her. Naminé sees this and deliberately slows down to skate at Vanitas’s side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s so pretty here,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you ever get bored of it?” she asks. “You’ve been here for so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s home,” Vanitas says. He’d shrug if he wasn’t clinging to the scooter handle. His speed is uneven, not wanting to go fast on this fucking deathtrap. but Naminé is gracious enough not to mention it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be so different without all of us here,” she says. “I’m afraid it won’t feel the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roxas and Kairi keep moving forward. They both stand out too much to be lost amongst the crowd, or maybe Vanitas knows them too well to ever let them blend in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s funny that she says that. Vanitas can’t help but snort, earning a confused look from the shadow at his side. She’s grown so much more confident since he first met her, but the association stays. “Don’t you get it? It already isn’t the same. Everything always changes. You think this place looked anything like this twenty years ago? Hell, ten years ago?” he asks, pointing to a dime-a-dozen hipster coffee shop on the corner. He went to that place with Xion last year. It wasn’t good enough to justify the price tag. Dime-a-dozen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, no,” Naminé says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you the same as you were when you first started school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. Shit changes. You learn to deal with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right,” Naminé replies. The white, glassy stores of Abbot Kinney lay before them, right on the other side of the stoplight. It stands starkly against the marine layer of the sky, a kind of cloudy you only get this close to the sea. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t miss it.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas opens his phone to a new DM on Instagram. He doesn’t recognize the profile picture, showing some woman roughly his age with short blonde hair and a mean-looking smirk.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey. U train dogs, don’t u? My girlfriend just got a puppy and the thing keeps chewing up all my shoes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Uh, yeah. Didn’t you read my bio?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vanitas replies. He shouldn’t be this rude to a potential customer, but it’s her fault for asking a stupid question.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did, but the person who recced u is an idiot. I had to confirm first.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas snorts. That could be most of his clients. He only follows other trainer accounts here, but a quick scroll through her photos reveals a group photo with Axel. That must be the idiot. Really, he can’t blame her for double checking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They message back and forth about rates. She’s more vicious in her attempts to haggle than most, but whatever. At least she’s direct, which makes it simple enough to settle all the details. The next day, Vanitas stands in front of an apartment complex no more than a mile away from his own place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman — Elrena, according to her Instagram — opens the door. “You’re Vanitas?” she asks. Vanitas nods. She gestures at him to come inside. Her apartment is nice, even if its decorated with much cutesier stuff than he’d expect from the pseudo-punk getup she’s in. “Dog’s in the bedroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leads him through the hallway into a bedroom, most of which is sectioned off by a waist-high fence. A woman with long orange pigtails crouches by a scrap of what looks to be a border collie mix. The dog can’t be any older than four months. No wonder it's teething. With a dog this young, he’ll correct the problem behavior in no time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The woman twists around to face them when she hears them approach. “Oh, are you the dog trainer? Hi! I’m Strelitzia, and this is Lily!” she says, pointing to the dog. “Nice to meet you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Vanitas says. He’s never been good at greetings. Elrena rolls her eyes and snorts, but Strelitzia giggles, so he figures it’s fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Elrena’s told you what we need help with,” she says. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you help us housebreak her, too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could housebreak a dog in my sleep,” Vanitas retorts. Strelitzia giggles again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next two hours fly by, which is a pleasant difference from his usual clients. Strelitzia is a little shy for his tastes and a little too prone to second-guessing herself, but at least he knows how to deal with her type. Besides, she’s a good counterbalance to Elrena’s acidity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point, after he’s replaced one of Elrena’s shoes with a small chew toy he brought along, he comments on it. Or something close to it, at least. “You know Axel, don’t you? I can’t see how you get along with the guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither, and I went drinking with him last week!” Elrena says with a groan. “Don’t ask me why I spent time with that loser. He’s like…. Ugh. Like a growth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A tall, spiky one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly. How do you know him, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His roommates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, the twerps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation flows from there. It turns out Elrena teaches college students, and she regales him with exaggerated stories of the bullshit the biggest clowns she teaches try to pull. Some of what she says is so wild that she shocks a laugh out of Vanitas. Strelitzia sits on the bed and seems content just to listen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The session comes to an end, much faster than most of these usually do. Elrena sends him his payment, but Strelitzia bounces up behind him as he’s leaving and presses a twenty dollar bill into his hands. “For being so fun,” she says with a sunny smile. Any prior shyness she had is gone. She warms up fast. “See you on Wednesday, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks down at the money, then back up at her, baffled. “I don’t usually take tips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That does inspire something in her. She looks away, a little embarrassed. “Well… still. I’m really grateful. You’ve been such a great help, and I really want you to keep working with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t flatter me. I already said I can handle your dog, can’t I?” He makes a point not to tell her that business has slowed. She doesn’t need to know that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, okay. Then… um… Wednesday?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Wednesday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves halfway hoping that they’ll both be here again on Wednesday. It’s rare that he has a training session so fun.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas’s days all blend into each other, listless and lazy with the start of summer — the ones he always hated as a kid. He walks his dogs. He texts his friends. He goes to work, and occasionally his work even comes to him. He shares dinners with his fiancé. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dreams.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The food is excellent, Vanitas,” Aqua says, twirling a piece of fettuccine alfredo around her fork. Next to her, Terra shoves what must be half a chicken thigh into his mouth. Hopefully he doesn’t choke. Aqua has CPR training, sure, but it’s still a hassle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank Ventus, not me,” Vanitas says, gesturing to the smiling burst of sunlight in the chair next to his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Family recipe,” Ventus explains. “I finally got it right.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took him three tries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Ventus shoves lightly at Vanitas’s shoulder. “Do you really have to expose me like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aqua and Terra both chuckle at their antics. They’ve long since stopped treating Vanitas like shit, even after all the things that went down during college. All the things that Vanitas did to Ventus. He still regrets it, but he saves those thoughts generally when he’s alone. No use bringing up the past when all he’ll get out of the story is another sigh from Ventus and an awkward silence from any other idiot unlucky enough to be nearby at the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus really went all out with this meal. They pair the pasta with a plate of grilled vegetables that Ventus only took two tries to make. They all have glasses of white wine and there’s a tub of gelato to split in the freezer. Vanitas guesses it makes sense. They don’t have people over that often, especially not these two. Makes this feel kind of like a special occasion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meal is nice. Vanitas can’t complain. He knows how to tolerate Terra and Aqua’s presence and if having them over for dinner makes Ventus happy, then he can suffer through it once every month or two. He’ll never quite align with them the way they do with each other, but it’s fine. He knows how to navigate the strangeness of their dynamic, just as they know how to navigate around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the meal finishes, Ventus chatters about showing Terra some woodcarving video he saved on his computer and drags him off to the bedroom. Vanitas glances at Aqua, whose expression turns unnervingly calculating as she makes eye contact with him. Between the two of them, he’d definitely prefer being stuck alone with Terra over Aqua. Terra’s kind of a dope. Aqua isn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something bothering you?” Aqua asks. Oh god. She has her </span>
  <em>
    <span>worried mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> face on. Vanitas wants to gag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should something be bothering me?” Vanitas counters. He has half an idea of what she’s going to say, considering she waited until Ventus and Terra left to bring it up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m worried for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You barely see me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aqua glares. “Ven’s worried for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets his attention. He leans closer to her, trying to figure out what exactly she’s getting at. “Oh yeah? Because this is the first I’m hearing about it, and I’m the one living with him.” Even after becoming something approaching friends, it’s easy for Vanitas to snap at her. She pushes too hard. What other choice does he have but to push back?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He hasn’t said it directly, if it’s any help. But I’ve known him for just as long as you have.” She looks ready to fight further, but she pauses. Each word she chooses feels like a careful selection. “You’ve been engaged for nearly two years. Vanitas, don’t you think it’s time to set a date?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wants to scream. He feels like he’s drowning in that question. “It’s not your fucking wedding! Can’t you just drop it!?” he snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was apparently the wrong thing to say, since it only makes Aqua even more irritated. “Are you twenty-six or are you twelve? Right now, I know which one you’re acting like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have any authority over me, Aqua. You can boss people around at your program or whatever, but this is my fucking apartment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it make you feel good to be this stubborn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas goes to reply, but his mouth snaps shut when he hears Ventus and Terra return. He settles for glaring at Aqua as they settle back into their chairs, laughing with one another, but the damage is done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Terra, I think we should head out,” Aqua says stiffly, standing from her chair. Her voice turns softer when she faces Ventus. “Ven, thank you for the food. It was lovely.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, did something happen?” Terra asks, looking between Aqua and Vanitas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing important,” Vanitas says. “You know where the door is.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later that night, once Vanitas has already settled in for the night and is just about to turn off the lamp at their bedside, Ventus speaks up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, what happened with Aqua earlier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, didn’t I? Nothing important.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hears shifting from behind him. Oh god. Ventus is sitting up in bed. That’s never a good sign. If he sits up too, then this becomes a </span>
  <em>
    <span>conversation,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that’s the last thing he wants right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vanitas, you can’t do this,” Ventus says. He sounds so fucking tired. Vanitas hates it. With a heavy sigh, he drags himself up until he’s leaning against the headboard. Ventus is watching him, unimpressed and worried all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t give me that look,” Vanitas groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me why you fought with Aqua and I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure it was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wants to choke on his tongue. He doesn’t want to talk about this, but he recognizes the light in Ventus’s eyes. They’re both a couple of stubborn bastards. Ventus may let him go to sleep without talking about it, but he isn’t going to be happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Communicating is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked about the wedding,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This takes Ventus by surprise. He’s suddenly awkward, curling in on himself as he looks away. Oh, doesn’t Vanitas hate that? “What… what did she say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She asked why we don’t have a date yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well… my extended family…” Ventus murmurs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus looks like he wants to say something more. Vanitas raises an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “I mean. We can always do two ceremonies, I guess. A really small one and a really big one. That way we wouldn’t have to keep waiting,” Ventus says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. It’s been nearly two goddamn years since Ventus proposed. How could he not think about it? All it’d take is them going to the courthouse with a witness or two (Xion, probably, and Ventus’s parents. Maybe his brother, his wife, and their niece, too), signing some paperwork, and calling it a day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s the thing. Ventus doesn’t deserve some tiny courthouse and a certificate. He deserves the whole fucking thing. He should see his family at a massive venue, packed full of all the people who are lucky enough to love him. He deserves doves, catering, gifts spilling off a table at the front of the venue. He deserves all that and so much more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas can’t give him what he deserves. Not like this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should wait,” Vanitas says. “Get it done all at once. Let your mom duke it out with the relatives until we find a date that works for everyone. She’s already tried, hasn’t she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>guess…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall into a brief silence. Vanitas takes advantage of the quiet to find Ventus’s hand and squeeze it. Ventus squeezes back, easy as the tide. It hasn’t always been easy between them, but it is now, and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t give up to keep that. “Happy now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. Thanks.” That smile isn’t as bright as it could be, but Vanitas will take what he can get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this one, all the old man does is shout Vanitas’s name through empty hallways. The less Vanitas reponds, the angrier he gets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas stays in his room, his dogs asleep on his bed. He hears wood tiles creak outside, sending fear spiking through his blood. He scrambles off the bed and quickly locks the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doorknob shakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas can’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It shakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And shakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And shakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wakes up in a cold sweat, a gasp caught in his throat. He tries to swallow it down, but the damage is already done. Ventus makes a sound behind him and stretches. His foot touches Vanitas’s calf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vanitas?” he asks, voice slurred by sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go back to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An’ you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was nothing. Just a weird dream.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just a weird dream.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas finds Skuld outside her apartment, tending to a hanging plant trailing lazy leaves over the edge of her balcony. She catches his eye and waves, a small smile playing across her lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lifts up Void’s leash. She sets down her watering can and crosses the street, taking the leash without another word. They set off, able to keep an easy pace with each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think Ephemer might be coming back soon,” she says. “He’s gotten more mail recently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he’s in a lot of debt and credit card companies are trying to take advantage of him,” Vanitas points out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got any other evidence?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skuld hums. They turn a corner. Trees hang over their heads, giving them ample shade. The jacarandas spread out to even here, leaving purple petals scattered all over the sidewalk. Skuld pauses just long enough to hop up and grab a flower off one of the trees. Void, the good dog that she is, waits obediently for Skuld to do whatever the fuck she’s trying to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel it. In my heart,” she says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, I do! I trust him,” she insists. “He always comes back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you always say that, and he still isn’t fucking here.” He closes his mouth, realizing he may have gone too far with that. It’s one thing to snap like that to one of his friends, but he doesn’t have any sort of history with Skuld. He’s kidding himself if he really thinks she’s his friend. They barely know each other. He knows she cares about Ephemer, and yet he went and said that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So much for a dog-walking partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long time, Skuld is quiet. It makes his skin crawl. All he can hear are cars racing down busier streets nearby, their engines humming the song of the city. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What else do I have if I don’t hope?” she asks quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a good question. Vanitas mulls over it, trying to find an answer. Eventually, he settles on something. “What else is in your life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My sister. My job — make fun of me all you want, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> like graphic design. Starlight. Going on hikes in the mountains. Fruit carts on hot days. Documentaries at those tiny theaters in Hollywood. Have you ever been?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go. They’re fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They haven’t done much besides these walks. Maybe… maybe they should change that. He’s never seen Skuld with other people, anyways. It might do her good. “Then let me know when the next one is. We’ll go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stops, turning to him in shock. “Wait, really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why not. I bet Ventus would be interested, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Uh— yeah, sure! I’ll let you know when the next one is,” she says, trying to hide her excitement and failing miserably. When was the last time she had a friend? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell, when was the last time Vanitas made a new one?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas pulls out his phone, opens up a new contact window, and hands it over. “Just text me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looks so relieved.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another Wednesday, another session at Elrena and Strelitzia’s place. Lily’s an easy enough dog to train. Two more sessions and they should be good. Vanitas will miss the tips, but such is life. Clients come and clients go. And the better the client, the shorter the stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas lingers in the doorway, his shoes already on and his backpack settled over his shoulders. “When do you want me to come by again? Saturday?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strelitzia and Elrena exchange looks. They share a silent conversation, one told entirely in their facial expressions. He thinks Strelitzia must be pushing for something Elrena doesn’t want to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m gonna go,” he says, hand reaching for the door. Strelitzia’s voice, suddenly sharp, freezes him in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! No!” She exchanges a pleading look with Elrena, who rolls her eyes and turns away. “Why don’t you stay for dinner, Vanitas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not even cooking dinner, oh my god. We already agreed on takeout,” Elrena says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like burgers?” Strelitzia asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not a picky eater,” says Vanitas. She smiles, taking it for the acceptance that it is. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up crowded on their couch watching a movie, a takeout container of Pad Thai in his hands. Apparently the burgers were vetoed at the last minute, since Elrena can’t make up her mind over food to save her life. It’s good though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s even fun.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wakes up to a notification on his phone. He’s been added to a new group text.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hi everyone! Hope you’re all ready for the coolest grad party ever! More details to come, but clear your Saturday two weeks from now!</span>
  </em>
  <span> The message reads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s finally happening,” Vanitas says to no one in particular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus, who is on his side facing away from Vanitas and is also on his phone, grunts. “What is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kairi’s magnum opus party.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” A yawn. “That. It’ll be fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know how to feel.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ventus drags himself into the apartment after his latest GRE attempt. Vanitas watches from his place at the dining table (where he’s balancing the final invoices from clients he recently had final sessions with. This includes Elrena, right at the top of the sheet. She’ll kill him if he mischarges her, he’s certain of it) as Ventus morosely shuffles his way into the bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas pauses for just long enough to grab a chocolate bar out of the cupboard before following. He finds Ventus face-down in the middle of the bed. Void’s fast asleep in her dog bed nearby and Gear rests her head in the small of his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas crawls onto the bed next to him, grabs his hand, and sets the chocolate bar in it. “You did it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>bombed </span>
  </em>
  <span>it,” Ventus groans, his voice muffled by the pillow he’s currently trying to suffocate himself with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up. No you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You weren’t there! You don’t know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I’ve been here, and I’ve had to drag you away from those fucking prep books for weeks. You did fine. Why don’t you celebrate that it’s over?” Vanitas tugs at Ventus’s arm, trying to get him to at least look at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it doesn’t feel good! Who knows if it was even worth it. My score might be worse than my last one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You won’t know for the next two weeks. Stop worrying about it,” Vanitas says. “At least let me distract you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus doesn’t even lift up his head. Vanitas rolls his eyes and pushes his shoulder. “I’m not leaving you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should. I’m worthless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the fuck up, seriously.” Ventus can throw his little pity-party all he wants, but Vanitas isn’t having it. He lifts him up, ignoring his protests as he forces him into a sitting position. He takes the chocolate back from his limp hand, opens the wrapper, breaks the bar in half, and gives him the piece. “Eat that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus glances down at it, then back up at Vanitas, hesitant. Vanitas gestures at him to hurry up. Finally, Ventus sighs and shoves the chocolate in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” Vanitas asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s… it’s tasty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit. I grabbed your favorite.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, that gets a chuckle out of Ventus. “You’re a jerk when you’re trying to cheer me up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If it works, then I don’t care. Now come here and cuddle me.” Ventus fucking loves to cuddle. With a massively exaggerated sigh, Ventus gives in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a little while, they don’t have to think about anything difficult at all.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>And then there’s the fucking graduation party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kairi’s a killer planner. She somehow managed to rent out an entire warehouse in downtown </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> transform it into a cool party venue. Loud bass pumps through the speaker system (and where she got that from, Vanitas has no idea). The room is cast in a deep blue light and tables adorned with pink tablecloths boast a variety of food and booze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People mill about the space. Sora dragged Riku onto the dance floor an hour ago, and the guy still shows no sign of tiring. Kairi darts about from group to group, happy to play hostess for everyone. Naminé has retreated to some corner to draw, Xion and Roxas are chatting on a couple of barstools, and overall it seems to be a damn good party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas nursed a club soda for most of the night, since he drove himself and Ventus there. But the club soda doesn’t do what booze can. All he can fucking see is how this isn’t going to happen again. Sure, he’s been to graduation parties. They threw a massive one for him and Ventus when it was their time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this is the biggest one and it’s no secret why. How are they going to do something like this again when Xion is six-hundred miles away and Kairi is two-hundred? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Naminé and Roxas are staying, but it won’t be the same. He already rarely sees Naminé. He’ll have to say goodbye to spontaneous Tuesday afternoon museum trips when her amazing portfolio gets her a cushy illustration gig. And Roxas will be working odd hours with his music stuff. If his career goes well, his nights will be taken up by work. So much for going to concerts together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas doesn’t miss college. Why would he? So much awful shit happened while he was an undergraduate. Besides, he likes having genuine free time, the kind where he doesn’t have to think about whatever assignment lingers in the back of his head. He has a newfound kind of freedom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s… he’s used to people leaving. Sometimes he looks at Ventus and all he can think about is his silhouette on the horizon, never close enough to touch. It’s been a while since he’s had to deal with that kind of loss. The muscle is weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what is his home, if the people who helped make it that way aren’t here anymore? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t know.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t look too hot, Vanitas,” Ventus whispers to him at one point. “Wanna head out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas shakes his head. He knows what happens next. The seniors suffer through finals, they suffer through their graduation ceremonies, and then they’re whisked off to their real homes. He has so little time left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets to his feet and takes a swig of the club soda. “Nah. I’m gonna go find Xion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. I’ll get some food. Text me if you need anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. You worry too much. What am I gonna do, get stabbed by a stray streamer?” Ventus really isn’t fucking happy at that, but Vanitas figures he’ll get over it in a few minutes. It isn’t a big deal. They have little spats like this sometimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas prowls around the edge of the warehouse, searching for Xion or any of her friends. There are so many people here Vanitas doesn’t recognize; friends from classes she took after he graduated or from clubs he never bothered to join (so: all of them). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, he knows her. It’s easy enough to find her. What’s surprising is that she’s on her own, sitting at a barstool nursing some amber-colored drink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’d Roxas go?” Vanitas asks, taking the barstool next to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His boyfriend finally showed up,” she says with a small laugh. Vanitas has met the guy, but only in passing. Roxas met him on that weird road trip he took with Sora a few years back, in the summer that they disappeared on a road trip that took them to every dirty corner of California and nearly killed Xion from a heart attack. They spent two weeks loitering around the city, not quite ready to end their trip and return to normal life. They met the guy and his friends at the rival school across town. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took them a couple years to get their shit together, but Roxas likes him a lot. They bicker, and the guy is too loud and too headstrong for Vanitas’s tastes, but Roxas likes him. They’re happy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sucks that he abandoned you to go suck face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion laughs. “It’s fine. I told him to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boyfriend is moving back in with his parents, Vanitas has heard. They live on the east side of the city. He won’t be far from Roxas and whatever apartment he finds with Naminé at all provided Vanitas wins his bet (and he’s pretty certain he will).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion’s moving to the other side of the state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can get to the roof, can’t we?” Vanitas asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so? Kairi didn’t advertise it, but I think I heard her mentioning something about a stairwell…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s find it.” He gets to his feet and waits for Xion to follow. Once she does, they skirt around the edge of the warehouse until they find an empty stairwell. It goes to speak to Kairi’s planning abilities that no one is hanging out here. The lights flicker to life as they enter and climb up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a few flights, but it’s nothing they can’t handle. Xion handles them better than Vanitas, out of practice now that he lives on a flat street and not constantly trawling up and down the fucking hills and endless staircases of Westwood. Still, they get to the top and open an unlocked door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing on the roof except an air conditioning unit that hums angrily, but it doesn’t matter. They can see half the city from here. The bright lights of downtown LA surround them. Skyscrapers cut the horizon into pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is no twilight here. All they have is the night sky. Only the brightest stars shimmer overhead. More than that, there are the greens and red lights of planes flying over their heads, preparing to land. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He never did take her to that coffee shop he lives by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t your home anymore, is it,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion hums. “I don’t know if I was meant to live in a city. It’s so chaotic. I miss the quiet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t relate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion giggles. “I know.” She sits down on the edge of the roof and pats the spot next to her for Vanitas to take. “It’s not as if I’ll quit talking to all my friends once I move. We have so many ways to stay connected.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it won’t be the same,” Vanitas says. It already isn’t the same. All they can do together is look back. Moving forward is too daunting. He has no idea what’ll be on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It won’t. And it’ll never be the same again,” Xion says, wielding that fucking knife of a sentence like she doesn’t even know what she’s saying. “There’s something special about doing life together. Waking up to one of your best friends across the room. Walking down the street to visit another.” Her voice grows quiet, solemn. “I know you needed to move. People aren’t meant to stay in Westwood. I always knew this couldn’t last forever, but before you moved, I could pretend otherwise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had to move,” Vanitas says. “My neighbors had moved away. Management was good, but we get way more space for cheaper in our current place. It feels weird as hell living around all those college students when Ventus and I both had careers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why I never brought it up. It hurt, but it wasn’t your fault. I knew I’d leave one day, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is a depressing conversation. Do you know that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion laughs. “Sorry. But I have a few more sad things to say, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god.” Vanitas really didn’t come here to cry. She’s one of three people who can bring tears to his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll still be my best friend. I think you might be one of my best friends for as long as I live.” Vanitas blinks back tears. Goddammit. “But I hope you can make more friends. Ones who can be there for you and Ven when I can’t. You’re a good person. You deserve to have friends close by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of Skuld. He thinks of Elrena and Strelitzia, too. Maybe… maybe they could be his friends, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This party, more than anything else, feels like a goodbye. It was never about college. Not the degree or the classes. It was the people. The experiences. Looking around himself and feeling like he could call somewhere home for the first time in his fucking life. But that’s the thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how this place is going to be home without you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t worry about that. I know you’ll figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wants to believe her.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to talk about what happened at the party?” Ventus asks on the drive back home. He’s using his snippy voice, the one that he knows for a fact drives Vanitas up the wall. He’s still pissed and trying not to show it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Vanitas says. But before Ventus can get any angrier, he prods at the twisted knot of emotions in his chest. He can’t tease them out yet. “But soon. Just… not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Promise.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once more, Minnie sits in that overstuffed chair big enough for three of her. “It’s good to see you, Vanitas. How is work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A little slow, but I’m managing,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How is Ventus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a deep breath. “He’s good. We’re good.” He takes another deep breath. Why is this so hard? “Actually, I need to talk to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Minnie grabs her pen and holds it over her notebook, poised to scribble down whatever bullshit comes out his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… I feel like I’m having trouble moving on. I already graduated, yeah, but all the things I got out of college? My friendships? They’ve changed in the past few years, but we got good at ignoring those changes. Now most of them are moving away and there’s no way to ignore it anymore. So there’s that, then there’s the wedding. We still don’t have a date and I know it’s starting to get to Ventus. I want to marry him. He wants to marry me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is something holding you back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is that true?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas searches for the words. They boil within him. He draws them out, even as they burn him from the inside out. “I want him to stay. God, I’ve never wanted anything more in my life than to get him to fucking stay. And now I have this chance, and I’m getting cold feet.” The words come out of him in a rush. He says things that haven’t even occurred to him until they take life in the air. His heart pounds in his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck…” He breathes out with a bitter laugh. “Fuck, that’s it! I have him and now I’m afraid of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>staying?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Minnie, can you believe this bullshit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve talked about this,” Minnie says softly. “He loves you. You love him. And you’re both working to build a life together. It isn’t about deserving or earning love. Love is a gift, and from what you’ve told me, nothing in this world could stop Ventus from giving you his love, time and time again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something dark and angry whips at him from inside. He wants to scream at Minnie that she’s wrong. Somehow, he reigns in the impulse. “I don’t want him to be trapped. I don’t want to hurt him again. I never came from anywhere good, and these — jesus, these fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dreams,</span>
  </em>
  <span> nightmares, whatever — always pop out of nowhere to remind me of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That gets her attention. “Dreams? You’ve never told me about any dreams.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They— they don’t really bother me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t sound that way to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn't happen often. I can prove it.” He pulls out his phone and finds the list of dates. Looking down at them, there are more than he expected. Still infrequent, and they never keep to a schedule, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, he hands his phone over to Minnie. “That’s the ones I’ve had over the past couple of months.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are they about, Vanitas? Are they all similar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to talk about them. It feels like admitting defeat. It’s been years, and he still has these fucking dreams. “They’re of the old man. Some are worse than others. I just deal with it, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been happening for months and you haven’t told me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas shrugs helplessly. “I thought I’d be over this. Over all the bullshit I’ve been through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t that easy. It never fully fades, Vanitas. I hate to say it, but scars rarely do. We just learn how to cope with it in healthier ways. Some pains we’ll struggle with for the rest of our lives.” Minnie sighs, but she straightens herself up in her ridiculous chair and smiles. “I’m glad you’re telling me about this now, Vanitas. I think we should meet next week. There’s more I’d like to talk to you about. Is that okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should be better than this. He shouldn’t be dealing with this same old shit. He’s grown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isn’t that what growing means? What it means to move on?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, he thinks of Xion. It hurts now, sure, but he remembers what she said. He’ll never forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days, it’ll hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And some days, it won’t hurt at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those days will come again. He might need some help to find them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah… that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Vanitas and Ventus finally work out a time to go with Skuld to see one of her arthouse documentaries. It’s fine. Ventus gets a bigger kick out of it than Vanitas does and spends the entire walk to the closest fruit cart chatting with Skuld about all the things they liked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all get cups stacked high with summer-ripe fruits from the cart on the closest corner. Melons and mango drizzled in lime sauce and tajín. The spice tingles in his mouth. It makes Ventus cough, which in turn makes Skuld laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sky is a beautiful blue over their heads, the palm trees a vivid green. The breeze is so gentle that they barely sway. Vanitas leans back against the bench they’ve claimed for themselves in a nearby park. When Ventus and Skuld are busy chatting, Vanitas pulls out his phone and texts Elrena to see if they’d be interested in coming over for dinner sometime soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This place is still home. Everything may change around him, but that fact won’t.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>It takes longer than Vanitas will ever admit to work up the courage to talk to Ventus. He’s within arms’ reach so often. All it’d take are a few words to kickstart the conversation. And it’s one they need to have, not just one they can relegate to distant Facetimes calls with Ventus’s mother. She wants to do the lion’s share of planning, which: </span>
  <em>
    <span>hah, go right ahead,</span>
  </em>
  <span> but it’s still </span>
  <em>
    <span>their</span>
  </em>
  <span> wedding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Communication is important. He knows that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doesn’t make it any less terrifying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally snaps on a Thursday evening, when he and Ventus are both sprawled over the couch, the dogs asleep in the small spaces between them. They’re watching another dumb reality show on Netflix. They’re great to make fun of, but the engagement part of this show needles at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flounders for the remote, snatches it up, and pauses it. Ventus looks at him, confused. “Something up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we talk?” Vanitas asks, turning to face him. “Really talk.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus, to his credit, doesn’t look worried. “Is this about what happened before? At the party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas nods. Their friends are struggling through the tail end of their finals now. The first commencement ceremonies start tomorrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now’s as good a time as any. “We’ll have been engaged for two years on this Saturday,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confusion comes back to Ventus in full force. His expression clouds. It makes Vanitas miss the sunlight. “Yeah? What’s this have to do with the party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas’s hands curl into fists at his sides. The words jumble themselves up in his head, but he knows he can tease them apart, bring them into the open. Ventus deserves that much, at least. “I know you still have school to finish. I know you’ll be drowning in debt for years to come. But that doesn’t matter to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… never thought it did,” Ventus says, clearly not following along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess I…” Vanitas trails off, the words sticking in his throat. He fists his hands in his hair, frustrated with himself. Why does this have to be so hard? And why does Ventus have to be so calm and patient? “Why are you so fucking good?” he grits out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m… I’m really not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you are! And that’s the problem.” He feels something crack deep within. “Everyone else is leaving and you’re staying and I guess that’s fucking terrifying! You’re going to do the most amazing things. But I’m the reason why undergrad was so fucking hard for you. Hell, aren’t I the reason why you’re struggling with your applications now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vanitas, you know that isn’t true! We’ve talked about this. My messing up in school was never your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but— jesus, Ventus. What if it happens again? What if I do something </span>
  <em>
    <span>worse,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and we’re already married? It’s a hell of a lot harder to break a marriage than it is an engagement.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus is silent. For a long time. The minutes drag across his skin. He can’t even make out Ventus’s expression— all he does is stare down at his lap, fists clenched in the fabric of his pants. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he speaks. His voice is quiet and angry. “All this time, and you still think I want to be anywhere but with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t that. It’s about giving you an out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> out, you idiot! I never have! I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I want you in the mornings and I want you after you had a rough day with clients and I want you even when you’re being a complete </span>
  <em>
    <span>idiot!”</span>
  </em>
  <span> he snaps. “I thought proposing to you would get it through that thick head of yours! We could drive to the courthouse right now and I’d be the happiest I’ve ever been, don’t you get it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you deserve better—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t about deserving! If it was, we’d never deserve anything, would we? We’re going to hurt each other someday! That’s called being human, you dope!” Ventus takes a deep, gasping breath. Vanitas knows that tic; he’s close to tears. It makes his chest squeeze painfully and guilt crawl through his veins. He’s fucking up again, isn’t he? “Sometimes I feel like we’re going in circles, you know? I don’t want to fight about this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me neither,” Vanitas says. He takes a deep breath, trying to let his anger and fear seep out of him. It feels like a sluggish wound, trickling blood everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then what do I have to do to make you finally believe me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus fists his hands in his hair. “I can’t help you with this, can I?” he asks miserably. “Have you talked to Minnie about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last time I saw her, yeah. That was the first time,” Vanitas says. He takes a deep breath, thinking back to everything she told him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fear is just a response,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can hear her saying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re allowed to feel what we feel, but that doesn't mean we have to let it rule our actions. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still want this,” Vanitas begins slowly. “I always have. That won’t change. I’m just… I’m scared.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can work with scared. I’m scared, too. I want to get into the vet school in Pomona so badly.” That’s why they chose here, and not a place on the Westside. Ventus will still have to commute to school, but at least from here it’s only an hour each way. It’s also the only vet program in all of Southern California. “If I got into Davis and had to move up there? How could I live with myself if I made you move somewhere that I’d know you’d be miserable at? You love it here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d go if you asked me. We wouldn’t be stuck there forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four years is a long time, but… Vanitas, I couldn’t do long distance. I wouldn’t be able to stand it,” Ventus says. “I have to get into Pomona. There’s no other choice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas wishes he wasn’t so good. So fucking considerate. He can barely breathe around the pure emotion in his chest, swelling like a balloon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” Vanitas says, swallowing around an invisible lump in his throat, “you know I love you, right? I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too,” Ventus answers immediately. Then he shifts, clearly uncomfortable. “Vanitas. Can we… can we set a real date? I know you’re scared. But if we both want this, then why keep putting it off? There’s a lot we can doubt. Jobs and the future and all that. Do we really have to keep doubting each other?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Do they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprisingly enough, his answer comes easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I… yeah. Let’s set a date.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>His friends all graduate. Vanitas goes to every single one of their ceremonies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gives Xion, clad in her cap and gown, the biggest bouquet of flowers he can find. Neither of them can stop crying, but Vanitas can’t find it in himself to give a shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always just a text away,” she says, handing the flowers off to her dad before pulling Vanitas into a bone-crushing hug. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hugs her back just as tightly. “I’m still gonna miss you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’ll miss you too, Vanitas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her dad invites Vanitas and Ventus to lunch with them. The best part is that he pays for all of them. They eat fancy brunch food and Xion only cries into her french toast a little bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the meal, Xion loiters outside of her dad’s car. They’re leaving pretty much immediately; she’s spent the week packing, and all that’s left is to load her stuff into her dad’s car and start the drive back to the place that she calls home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them really want to say goodbye. Ventus stands a little ways away, drawing Xion’s dad into some awkward small talk in a piss-poor attempt to give them a little privacy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll come visit, I promise,” Xion says. “It might take a few months, though… I think my dad wants to do some travelling while his university is on summer break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The joys of being a professor’s kid.” Xion laughs. Vanitas grins and continues on. “As long as you clear out the second weekend in December to come down here, I can forgive you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Xion looks at him, confused. “The second weekend in December…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas couldn’t stop grinning even if he tried. His heart kicks rabbit-fast in his chest, fear trailing on every edge of his excitement, but he pushes through it. He reminds himself that it’s okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’ll all be okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We haven’t announced it yet, but Ventus and I? We finally set a date for the wedding.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another dream. Vanitas can tell, because he can always fucking tell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The house is as run down as it was the final time Vanitas ever saw it. Overdue bills spill over the edge of the dining table and onto the floor. He knows without having to try that they’d stick to the floor were he to grab them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man calls his name. “Vanitas!” he croaks. “Boy, where are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas rolls his eyes. He could leave the old man to rot. It’d serve him good, wouldn’t it? He looks outside. The car waits in the driveway. A packed duffle bag nestles amongst a few garbage bags. Void sits by his things, ready to leave. Her dark eyes track his every move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coming!” says a voice. Vanitas whips his head at the sound. He watches a boy jog out of the filthy kitchen and down the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s… that’s himself. He can’t be any older than twelve or thirteen. He’s just a kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas follows him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re slow, boy! I’ve been calling for five minutes,” says the old man. He looks just as sick as Vanitas remembers, towards the end. He knows this wasn’t the case in life. At this age, Xehanort still terrorized the hallways. He still had Vanitas throw himself against the floor in judo matches against invisible opponents until he was more bruise than boy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t the distant, terrifying specter Vanitas sees before him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” his kid self mutters, staring resolutely at the floor. “I was making lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve yet to make me lunch. Isn’t there soup I told you how to make?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His kid self rubs his hands. Vanitas sees reddened skin cling to his fingertips. Did he burn himself? God, does this kid even know how to use a stove? Did he know at this age? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is. I’ll make it,” he says. He refuses to make eye contact with the old man. Vanitas remembers the feeling; looking at him felt like suffocating, even at this age. Is the Vanitas in front of him in what, middle school? Has he looked at Terra, Aqua, and Ven, and finally realized that not every kid lives with the breath held hostage in their lungs? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He follows the kid back out. Ugh. The house really is filthy. His kid self skirts around the table, deftly ignoring the cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas looks back at Void. She perks up when she realizes she’s being watched. Her tail thumps against the ground in heavy, rhythmic beats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soon, girl,” he says. His curiosity gets the better of him. He joins his kid self back in the kitchen. There, he finally lets down his guard. With a hiss, he pulls up his sleeve and stares morosely at an ugly red mark that covers most of his hand and ends at his wrist. He must have splashed himself with hot oil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas whistles. “Looks like it hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his surprise, the kid responds. “A lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Run it under cold water,” Vanitas says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid shakes his head. “Can’t. I have to get that soup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stubborn little shit. “Look.” Vanitas flicks on the faucet. “Hand. There. Now,” he says, in a voice that the kid has no choice but to obey. He scowls like the little jerk he is, but at least he does it. “I’ll take care of your damn soup.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shuffles his way over to the stove, where he finds the blackened remains of what must be rice in a pan. “Why didn’t you use the rice cooker?” he asks. He’s in his fucking twenties and he still doesn’t know how to cook rice on the stove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s dirty,” the kid mutters. “Like everything else in this house. It’s all stained and I can’t get it clean. I tried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’ll soak the center part in some hot water and baking soda. If that doesn’t do the trick, then lemon juice will. It’ll be a pain in the ass, but what isn’t? “We’ll take care of it later. You okay with eating something else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dunno what else there is. The bread’s all moldy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas goes to the cabinet. He finds some old pasta and a can of tomato paste tucked away in the back of the cabinet. The can’s only a little expired. Won’t kill anyone. “How do you feel about spaghetti?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid shrugs. “Food is food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas gets to work, starting both the soup and what will eventually become spaghetti sauce. The spices and sauces are all jumbled in this dream, but he knows what the old man wants well enough to figure it out. His kid self runs his burn under the faucet the entire time. Every time he moves to turn it off, a quick glare is enough to keep him in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scowls back every time. It’s kind of funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the soup is almost done, the kid’s transitioned to wrapping his burn in a wet rag. He cradles his arm to his chest and watches Vanitas transfer it to a bowl. “I have to do chores today, too. Dad says I have to clean the bathroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bathroom’s small. That’s not so bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To you, maybe,” the kid says. He folds his arms over his chest, ignoring the way the wetness of the rag must seep into his t-shirt. It’s so thin. A small tear hugs the seam clinging to his neck. He doesn’t know how to sew yet, does he? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he changes the topic. “I’ll take this to the old man,” he says, taking the soup. He gestures to the other pan, now transformed into fairly plain spaghetti and sauce. “That’s for you. It’s just carbs and tomato, but whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaves the kid to his own devices (he can definitely scoop some pasta into a bowl on his own, burn or not) and returns to the old man’s room. Void watches him from the doorway as he passes, but he keeps his attention on the pigsty that is the living room. It’s bad, but hasn’t he seen worse? The floor can be mopped with a good vinegar mix, and there’s a thick layer of dust clinging to the fireplace, but dust is just dust. The couch, torn up and covered in weird stains (cat piss, probably, ugh) is a goner, but no one but the cat used it anyways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can handle this. One step at a time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets the soup down at the old man’s side. He doesn’t expect a thank you. He barely even expects an acknowledgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The bathroom needs to be cleaned. And he still has judo practice to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Judo practice. All those years of training for nothing. “You sit here. I’ll walk him through it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The old man looks at him. His eyes are cold, just as they’ve always been. He’ll never forget them, even when he wishes he could. “You still remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made sure of that.” Without waiting for a response, Vanitas leaves. He passes by Void one more time. From here, he can see his kid self at the counter, shoveling food down his throat like he’s starving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas never starved, not really, but he knows the desperation. The kid’s afraid he’ll be called to do something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his injured hand hovering awkwardly in midair. They wouldn’t have burn cream here. Vanitas could… he could pick up some from the store. It’s bad enough to blister, but at least they can prevent it from getting infected. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey kid,” Vanitas calls out. He lifts up his head, eyes wide and scared. They narrow as he scowls once again, though the aggression is made ineffectual by the puff of his cheeks. He looks like an angry squirrel. Ventus would laugh at him if he saw this. “Let’s get out of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid swallows. “I can’t. I’m stuck here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you tried leaving?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas looks down at Void. He scratches under her chin. He could take her and leave. It’s just a dream. He’s past this. Free to do whatever the fuck he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once upon a time, he wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this boy can’t leave, then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry girl,” he says softly, patting her head. “Gonna have to stay here a little longer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets to his feet. This kid may be in way over his head, but Vanitas isn’t. It’ll suck, sure, but he can clean this place up. He can make the food. He can even withstand the old man’s bullshit. It’ll never be a home, but he can help make it bearable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dream or not, he’s grown. He’s not the shivering kid in a torn shirt anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can handle this. He turns the words over in his head and finds nothing but truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on kid,” he says. “I’ll help you out, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With those words, Vanitas finds himself blinking awake. He’s back in the bedroom he shares with Ventus, who exists as a solid line of warmth against his back. Vanitas finds his hand — flat against his stomach, since the guy still loves to cuddle — and squeezes it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ventus makes a sleepy noise in the back of his head. “Vanitas?” he murmurs. “Are you awake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wide awake, actually. “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nightmare?” Ventus asks around a yawn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vanitas considers that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks of the notes app on his phone. He should add today’s date, shouldn’t he? Another dream to record. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it wasn’t a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. No… it wasn’t. I’ve had these dreams recently, and— god, it’s too early to talk about this. Remind me in the morning. I’ll tell you all about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the strangest thing is that he means it. Every word.</span>
</p>
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